


the siren's last wish

by hyungsobbing



Category: Produce 101 (TV), Wanna One (Band)
Genre: Implied Relationships, M/M, no explicit content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-26
Updated: 2017-08-26
Packaged: 2018-12-20 05:28:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,072
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11914179
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hyungsobbing/pseuds/hyungsobbing
Summary: It is at nine at night when he is all dolled up, makeup layered on his face and lenses over his eyes to not scare the customers with his vivid eyes.But it is two in the morning on spring night when he makes his first wish.





	the siren's last wish

**Author's Note:**

  * For [shinhwi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/shinhwi/gifts).



Like every other day, lights click off and the music stops playing at exactly five in the morning.

 

Five in the morning is when the sober, the half-drunk, the drunk and the extremely drunk stagger out of the bar in various states of disarray. They always come with wallets stuffed with hundred-dollar bills, but Hyungseob is skilled at what he does. All of them leave with pockets lighter than before.

 

Five in the morning is also the time that Ahn Hyungseob slowly gets off the stage, head spinning and entire body aching. He’s spent half his life doing the same thing every night, but these are the kind of things that no one can ever get used to.

 

“If only I didn’t have to live like this,” He tells himself every morning when the only support he can find is the graffitied wall. If only he wasn’t like this. If only he could live another way.

 

If only makeup could remove itself without having him having to spend hours scrubbing it off. His clothes fall to the floor as he wonders how he has been reduced to ‘if only’s.

 

It’s at seven in the morning when Ahn Hyungseob from the Bar becomes Ahn Hyungseob from the Docks. It’s always the same person that knocks on the door of the changing room.

 

Seven years ago, the knocks would start soft, and Hyungseob would run into the smallest corner of the room curled up into a ball, hands clamped tightly over his ears. This way, he couldn’t hear as the knocks became louder, louder, and louder.

 

Now, he leans against the metal railing of the vehicle, staring vacantly out of the window. It is always around this time that the sun comes out, tinging the entire sky with brilliant hues of blue, orange, yellow, and a million other colors that he can’t name. 

 

It was some sort of comfort, Hyungseob thinks, that the sun rises in the same place every morning. He likes to think that he is somewhat like the sun, always happy to stay in the same place, never changing, never moving, always happy.

 

When he tells this to the boy that always sits next to him on the vehicle, Euiwoong only laughs. “Happy?” He asks disbelievingly, and shakes his head. “There is no such thing as ‘happiness’ for us, Hyungseob. There is only ‘contentment’.”

 

“How does it feel to be content?” Hyungseob wonders, and Euiwoong replies, “To be satisfied where you are.”

 

Is he satisfied? He’s only known this lifestyle. He’s never been more than fifty meters away from the bar unless you count going to the docks. How can he not be satisfied when this is all he’s ever known? 

 

Eight in the morning is when they reach the docks. They are rushed into the vehicle by a woman with severe features, fake eyelashes a mile long and neon pink hair pulled back tightly. Move faster, she always tells the group. Faster, or you won’t get lunch. Faster, or you’ll be thrown into the ocean along with the trash.

 

Hyungseob wishes he could get thrown into the ocean. He wishes that applied to him too.

 

One in the afternoon is when a small elf boy runs across the docks, banging loudly on a tin can. His call of lunch causes everyone to drop what they’re doing and gather together in a tight circle. The same pink-haired woman throws a few raw pieces of meat on the ground before them.

 

Everyone waits to see if they’ll get more than that, but it’s always just those few pieces of rotting meat, the kind that attract flies under five seconds if left out in the open. The werewolves are the first to attack the food, like it’s some sort of vicious monster, the ferocious glint in their eyes making them almost unrecognizable.

 

(Afterwards, when they huddle together after their meal, there is always a general feeling of regret emanating from the werewolves—that they were born this way, that their primal instinct was to eat and get rid of anything in the way.)

 

 No one blames them. How can they, when everyone here is the same?

 

But it was either eat or starve. Kill or be killed, survive or die. Hyungseob always tries to avoid the mess, and only goes forward once everyone has stopped fighting. On good days, there’s a small piece of meat left--on other days, it’s nothing.

 

It’s okay, he is used to this. A small girl, her skin tinged with green screeched as another boy with white, dirty wings ripped a chunk of meat right out of her hands. She jumps on him, both of them yowling and clawing at each other. And the handlers do nothing but laugh as both of them crash into the electric fence by the ocean, with an awful sizzling sound and a smell of burnt meat that attracts the attention of everyone.

 

The werewolves and goblins and half-vampires and lunge for the carcasses (how did ‘girl’ and ‘boy’ become ‘carcasses’ in a matter of seconds?) like a clan of hyenas, and within seconds they are reduced to a pile of white bones and a pair of wings, still fluttering feebly.

 

“It’s eat or get eaten,” Euiwoong always says. Hyungseob agrees.

 

It’s three in the afternoon when more vehicles arrive, and hulking creatures emerge from the shadows of the vehicles. From the wrestling ring, Justin tells him. He trusts Justin, because Justin can do almost everything, whereas Hyungseob can only sing.

 

The first to emerge is always a pink-haired boy. He has wrinkles near his eyes, like he is used to smiling and laughing, but now all that’s left of his happiness is wrinkles to remind him where his smiles should be.  

 

The wrestlers are all dressed in the same low-cut singlet and camo pants, but it seems like he’s too big for the singlet. He doesn’t look like he fits the role of a wrestler at all.

 

While Hyungseob, Justin, Euiwoong and the rest lift one box at a time, the wrestlers pick up three boxes with remarkable ease and shift them to the boats. Hyungseob never fails to gaze at them in awe. If only he was stronger like them—maybe he could get out of this life. Maybe he could be happier? But he doubts that, because although the wrestlers having muscles and defined bodies; they never smile and he can always feel a terrifying loneliness and hopelessness emanating from them.

 

But it is at five in the evening when more handlers arrive. They lead emaciated girls and boys out of a tinted car--they still have heavy makeup on. But no amount of makeup can conceal the bruises on their wrists and necks, and no amount of concealer can cover up the dark circles around their eyes.

 

Hyungseob thinks that they are the ones that are the most pitiful. All of them here have been forced into this life without a choice, but then again the pretty ones are always sent to brothels. He was lucky to have been sent to a bar, where he is on the stage and a safe five meters away from the groping hands down below.

 

Then it’s over at seven—but not really. They’re sent back to their respective ‘homes’. (‘Homes’ with quotation marks, because all of them cannot remember what their actual homes look like anymore. They have all been away from their home for so long that Hyungseob wonders if his parents even remember him.)

 

No, he always tells himself firmly. Don’t hope. It isn’t as if he’d get out to see them ever again.

 

After all, distance does not always make the heart grow fonder.

  

Finally, it is at nine at night when he is all dolled up, makeup layered on his face and lenses over his eyes to not scare the customers with his vivid eyes. The people start streaming in, from a trickle of people who come just for the drinks to a whole flood of newly-graduated young adults, who think they can do whatever they please with the waiters.

 

Hyungseob does not really pay attention to any of them. He tries not to, because he knows if he does he will only be reminded of those times, seven years ago, when he was still a waiter, and how those sweaty, greasy hands would slap at his behind and creep up the tatters of his shirt as he placed their drinks down.

 

And he couldn’t do anything because that’s just how bars in this city worked. Status was all that mattered, and his was terribly low.

 

At half past nine he launches into a song about love. He wishes he could understand what love is like, but those like him are not given any love.

 

-

 

Outside the club, the leaves fall as he sits on the creaky wooden floor in the attic. It was a Sunday, the only day that he did not have to go to the docks. Society was a strong believer in the fact that creatures like him did not require any sleep, so it was only on Sunday that he could get any sleep at all.

 

On normal days, he falls into a sleep with his only thoughts hoping that he could fall into a sleep forever. But today is the seventh autumn that he’s been here, and he remembers his family saying that seven was a lucky number.

 

Autumn arrives, and he watches as the sun sinks below the ocean in the distance, streaks of orange and yellow fade into the water. The waters become more peaceful and the noises from the city die down, but if anything, the city below becomes louder.

 

From somewhere, Hyungseob thinks he hears the soft, yet loud, desperate wailing of a small vampire girl as a gang of middle-aged men pin her against a dark alley, taking everything she has to offer and more. He also thinks he hears the quiet sniffling of a young pixie boy lying in a dusty bed in the brothel as the woman above him steals his childhood and soul, piece by piece.

 

He remembers fighting tooth and nail when he was dragged to the bar, all the fighting spirit in him resisting against his handlers. He had everything taken from him, but they could never take his will. At least, that was what he had thought. Soon enough he, a boy who used to dance around the underwater courts and play with the animals, became subdued and silent.

 

Hyungseob also remembers the way they sneered at him, told him he was lucky that they didn’t take him to the museum. He didn’t know what that meant back then, but now he knows. (He’s seen the dissected parts before.) He considers himself fortunate.

 

Amidst the deafening silence of the city, Hyungseob falls asleep.

  

-

 

Autumn turns the leaves red and the grass brown; temperatures drop to sub-zero, yet his clothes remain the same. The owner of the fine establishment changes her hair color from pink to silvery-blue, and she starts wearing her authentic werewolf-fur coat around.

 

More customers flock to the bar at earlier timings to escape the cold outside and Hyungseob is ‘excused’ from his job at the docks to start working earlier hours. He’s not particularly happy about this, because he knows his friends are still dressed in a thin layer of clothes in this freezing temperature, carrying boxes at the docks.

 

But what can he do? It’s been seven years since he has come here and nothing has changed.

_He doesn’t think it ever will._

 

-

  

He realises that winter is the time when most of their customers become less of party-goers but more of people who come to drink away their problems.

 

As the night goes on, there are more people who walk in alone, from the dramatic ones who have black mascara running down their cheeks, to the more toned-down ones who slouch in, hands in pockets, and clothes that looked like they have been slept in for days.

 

Today, he was singing another sad ballad about separation. He couldn’t really remember the title, but he did not care. These kinds of things did not really matter to him. After all, he was just there for entertainment. In the long run, he didn’t matter. None of the supernatural beings in this world did.

 

The door opens again, and he does not look up.

 

The clock tower in the middle of the city chimes to signify the coming of midnight, and the door opens slightly and a figure slips into the corner of the bar. Hyungseob’s seen it all—the ones with a love lost, the ones with their love scorned, the ones with their love spurned and nothing’s really new to him anymore. He continues singing.

 

Two in the morning is usually an odd time. The bar would either be completely full or completely empty, and today it was completely empty. Except for that one person who had come in at midnight. 

 

The boy sits at the darkest, shadiest corner of the bar where the strobe lights can’t reach him, but there’s no alcohol in front of him, just a glass of water. Hyungseob squints a bit and realizes the water is sprite, and laughs to himself. Sprite here cost three times the amount of a glass of gin.

  

It’s strange, he thinks, how people with money really did go all out to spend it.

 

At three in the morning, when Hyungseob gets off his stool to go to the toilet, he tiptoes along the wall desperately hoping that he will not get caught by his handler. It was also strange how he called all them ‘handlers’, and not ‘John’ or ‘Mary’. He could never put a name, or a personality to those who captured his kind and left them to rot. In his head, they looked somewhat like mugshots—coloured black and white, pixelated faces and grainy images.

 

The figure turns to face him as he comes back. It’s a human—a boy around his age. His eyes were not red-rimmed, his nose not swollen and his hair was in place.

_Strange,_ he muses.

 

He is about to continue back to the stage when he sees the boy’s mouth moving. “I liked your singing.” The boy stutters, extremely unsure of himself.

 

What. Hyungseob raises an eyebrow. Does he not know what Hyungseob is? He pops out one of his lenses and stares coolly at the boy.

  

He expects a string of swear words, or in the least a muffled yelp of surprise, but instead the boy smiles toothily. “I know.”

 

Okay, Hyungseob says to himself and as he walks back to the stage, the boy’s toothy smile remains in his head. It is hard to stop himself from turning around, from checking if he wasn’t just hallucinating, the first person who had not shown even the least bit of disgust at him. Hyungseob does not usually think a lot. He lives in black and white and straight, unshakeable lines.

 

(He tries not to think of how he used to live in the brightest colors, pink and pastel blue, purple and magenta.)

 

At five in the morning, he finds himself thinking of the toothy smile when he’s removing his makeup.

_Strange._

 

-

  

Eleven was also an odd time. An hour before midnight, an hour before the ‘happy hour’ of the bar. Eleven was when he stepped off stage for an hour or so to let the fairies, with their wings clipped and tiny feet mutated, come on stage.

 

As he passed by, he sees Daehwi, one of his only friends in this place. Daehwi is smiling (his fake smile) and waving (his tired wave) at the crowd, who reaches out to pull at his skirt, at his hair, at his everything.

  

Hyungseob tugs at his sleeve as they pass by each other, and a smile is all that can be exchanged. The first genuine smile he has given out the entire night. No words can be said, for there isn’t a word in this language to comfort any of their kind. 

 

Maybe in their own native language, they could offer soothing words of comfort and relief, but he has been away from the ocean for so long that all he can remember is the haunting chants of the funeral march as he’s taken away.

_No_ , he tells himself. 

 

Someone pulls on his sleeve as he walks past, and it’s a practiced habit to turn slowly around just in case it’s a drunk customer who’s trying to feel him up.

 

It’s the boy with the smile, Hyungseob thinks, and he does not think much about it until later--when he realises how sentimental it sounds.

 

“Hey.” The boy fumbles with his hands, twisting his watch around his wrist.

 

Hyungseob raises an eyebrow.

 

“Park Woojin.” He adds on. Honestly, Hyungseob thinks it’s kind of adorable to see people get nervous in front of him. It was usually the reverse in this world—he got so nervous that his hands shook and his eyes would flash an otherworldly color and the person would beat him up. Same old, same old.

 

This is strange. But the strobe lights shine down at him right at this moment, and he supposes he must look like some sort of angel from hell, because the boy (Woodam?) snaps out of his daze and ducks his head shyly, mumbling under his breath and staring at his shoes like they’re the most interesting thing. (More than Hyungseob? He doesn’t think so. 

 

Cute, Hyungseob thinks. He supposes Woojin is just a little bit intimidated by him. 

 

(The fact that Woojin could be just a little bit, slightly in adoration of him does not cross his mind.)

 

-

 

It was spring again. His eighth year on land, and nothing in this place could hold a candle to the delights of spring. Spring is when the birds are everywhere, even flying into the bar. One broke the window of the bar before while trying to get out of the bar, but it died bleeding from the glass.

 

(Hyungseob does not stop to think that he might just be like that bird.)

  

Spring is also when his handler gets high off the weed and cocaine, and the bar is closed while his handler is in the backroom sniffing up lines off the arm of the sofa.

 

He is sitting on the roof of the bar when a shooting star arcs across the sky, and he can vaguely remember his parents telling him stories about humans who wished on a shooting star.

 

He closes his eyes, and is about to wish—but then he realizes that he has nothing to wish for. He has a roof over his head, and one meal a day. He has enough.

 

(He does not think about how he used to live joyfully, eating the sweets that only their palace had, linking arms with his friends and swimming without a care in the world. Maybe this is a sign that he is slowly forgetting all about his past life.)

 

“I hope I can be happy,” he says out loud. He hopes that the stars above can listen to him, even if it is just this once.

_Just this once_ , he wishes. _Don’t let me down again, not like last time._

 

-

 

Three in the morning. Woojin has been sitting there, silent as the live band of vampires play. Hyungseob stares unashamedly at him, wondering why he keeps coming back to this bar. Has he lost a love he gave his everything for? Or has he made a mistake so severe even money cannot fix?

 

Woojin lifts his head slightly, but puts it down so fast he almost spills his glass of Sprite. Hyungseob cracks a tiny smile at that, but only because Daehwi is bending over and mopping up the spill, and he looks absolutely ridiculous.

 

Daehwi bows at Woojin and retreats, and Woojin stares at Daehwi as he walks away, ignoring the catcalls of the men. They’re all used to it.

  

“He’s a fairy,” Hyungseob whispers into Woojin’s ear. Fortunately, he was not holding a glass anymore; he had nothing to spill.

_Oh._ Woojin’s mouth moved to shape the word, but no sound comes out. He looks down again, and Hyungseob is reminded of a sparrow he saw the other day while on the roof; both red, shy and just a little bit adorable.

  

Looking at the darkened sky through a small crack in the wall, he decides he still has an hour before his next performance and pulls Woojin up. “Come on.” He smiles (a half-genuine one) invitingly at him.

 

Woojin follows him up to the roof, and they both sit down near the pipes, legs dangling off the roof shingles. A silence fills the nighttime air between them, but Hyungseob is in no rush to break it.

 

Sitting on top of a building with someone by his side, Hyungseob is reminded of his home under the vast ocean, where he used to come up to the surface of the water when a tsunami hit, and watched as the great waves rushed at the shore, pounding at everything and anything in sight, destroying everything without any discrimination.

  

He does not know why, but he feels compelled to talk about his home with Woojin. So he does. He points towards the horizon, saying, “Do you see that?”

  

Woojin nods silently.

 

“That’s my home. Under the great seas, not being constrained by anyone or anything.” Hyungseob does not want to talk about the usual topics, he does not want to talk about how it snowed yesterday or ‘how was your day’ with Woojin. 

 

He wants to tell Woojin important things, like his friends at the docks, and the bird that flew in and never got out.

 

So he does. He tells Woojin about the family he has found on land, which are the friends he has made—Euiwoong, Justin, Daniel, Daehwi, and everyone he’s formed a bond with. He tells Woojin about the bird that could never find its freedom in this life, and instead chose to move on to the next.

 

He tells Woojin about the great wonders of the ocean and its intricate mysteries, and he finds Woojin to be an exceptionally good listener. He lets Hyungseob use his hands to form a model of his palace down in the sea, and smiles at Hyungseob whenever he goes into a spiel.

 

By the end of the night, he has missed his shift on stage and he knows the consequences which will follow, but their shoulders are just barely touching and Hyungseob cannot find it in himself to care.

 

He’ll miss Woojin when he leaves.

 

(After all, everyone leaves him; including what he once called a home.)

 

-

 

It’s still early that night when he sees a familiar face in the bar.

 

Ten at night, Daniel walks in, hand-in-hand with a handsome guy who is all beautiful angles; and the constellation of a night sky on his face.

 

“Hyungseob,” Daniel calls to him, smiling. It’s the first time Hyungseob is seeing Daniel smile. The the corners of his eyes crinkle, and Hyungseob thinks it’s breathtaking.

 

“Daniel hyung,” Hyungseob runs over to him, and Daniel envelopes him into a warm hug.

 

“This is Seongwoo.” Daniel loops an arm around Seongwoo and the beautiful boy smiles at him, and it was then that Hyungseob realizes—oh. Daniel and Seongwoo are something more than friends, and— _oh_. Seongwoo isn’t their kind, is he? 

 

“I’m Seongwoo,” He smiles, and bends down to whisper in Hyungseob’s ear like he’s sharing the universe’s best guarded secret. “I’m human.”

 

Daniel laughs again, his eyes disappearing into his smile. “Yeah.”

 

This should be a shock to him, but it isn’t. He has come to realize that his land did have those humans who were more decent than others.

 

(He swears he does not think of Woojin at that moment.)

  

Daniel clears his throat, and Hyungseob looks at him inquisitively. He can see his fists curling and uncurling by his sides, and he does not miss the hand that Seongwoo rests on his shoulder

  

“I’m not going to be here tomorrow.” Daniel rushes his words out, hands clenched tightly, waiting for Hyungseob’s reaction.

 

“Of course, you’re not going to be here tomorrow, you’ll be in the wrestling ring?” Hyungseob forms the statement properly in his head but it comes out as a tentative question, and he is scared that what he thinks Daniel is saying is exactly what Daniel is saying.

 

“Seongwoo and I, we’re running away.” It is. Hyungseob cannot feel anything but a numb shock spreading through his body like frostbite, feet rooted to the ground, mouth unable to move.

 

He wants to scream, he wants to shout, he wants to protest and ask them why they’re going, why they did not ask Hyungseob, why can’t Hyungseob come with them. He supposes Daniel can see the questions and hurt in his eyes, because he looks to the floor, and only Seongwoo meets his gaze head-on.

 

“He’s tired. I’m tired, and we want to move on. He has nothing here, neither do I. It’s a risk but it’s a risk we’re both willing to take.”

 

Hyungseob cannot process his words, and can only stare blankly at them.

 

“I’m sorry, Hyungseob, but if you knew me you’d know that I don’t like this; none of us like this place. I can’t stay here forever.”

 

Hyungseob knows. He knows more than anyone how it’s like to watch as everyone moves on but you’re always stuck at the same spot-- unable to move, unable to live the way you want to live, unable to do anything.

 

He thinks he understands why, but that does not make it hurt any less.

 

“I’ll be waiting for you out there,” Daniel tells him, eyes like a kaleidoscope under the strobe lights.

_They leave, and Daniel just becomes one more person who’s left Hyungseob._

 

-

 

He tells Woojin all of this when the sparrow-boy comes in at four in the morning. Woojin does not say anything, but he guesses that Woojin understands from the trembling of his lip and the shine in his left eye.

 

They sit on the roof in silence once again, but this time with their hands interlocked.

 

 -

 

It’s half past six in the evening when another two of his family leave Hyungseob. They’re all at the docks (minus Daniel) and he sees Euiwoong and Justin awfully close together. Their handler is nowhere to be found, and he just stands there, watching silently as Euiwoong and Justin turn and start running as fast as they can, stepping on a box and leaping over, and over, and over the electric fence.

 

He wants to call out to them, to stop them, to cry and wail at the unfairness of it all, but he cannot do anything as Euiwoong and Justin turn around at the same time. They look straight at Hyungseob, smiling sadly, and he thinks he understands why.

 

It’s the smile that he’s never seen before his entire life except on Daniel and Seongwoo, and a second later they become two spots of black in the distance, their silhouettes highlighted against the harsh glare of the setting sun.

 

_Go. If I can’t be happy, at least someone else is._

Hyungseob does not go on stage that night. He sits at the darkest corner of the bar and waits, waits and waits for Woojin to come.

 

Woojin eventually does turn up, and there’s a million things Hyungseob wants to say to him. _Thank you for not leaving me. Thank you for coming to this bar during my seventh winter at exactly midnight._

 

He does not say a word.

 

-

 

It is his eighth autumn on land when a tsunami hits. It washes over the land, destroying everything in his wake. Everyone evacuates the bar—except Hyungseob. He waits for the tsunami to hit the bar so that he can be swept away by the harsh, unforgiving waves. He waits for his loneliness and hopelessness to be taken away by the ocean, but it never does.

 

The tsunami stops right before it hits the bar, and gentle waves carry debris and destruction towards the city center without ever destroying the bar.

 

(The ocean has let him down once again.)

 

-

 

Two weeks later, the bar is reopened. He spent those two weeks lying on the roof, counting the stars as they light up the never-ending night sky. He waits for another shooting star to pass by so he can make a second wish, because the first one clearly isn’t ever going to work.

  

At eight in the evening when the bar opens, the first customer that enters is Woojin. It is in his delight that he hugs Woojin for the first time in a year since he has met him, and Woojin hugs back without any hesitation.

  

“Let’s run away.” Woojin says without preamble. “You and me, just you and me, let’s leave everything behind and let’s go. There’s a whole world out there, and I am sick of being trapped in this toxic city. Let’s go.” 

 

Hyungseob does not even think. “Let’s go.” He agrees without a doubt.

  

Maybe this was the chance he’s been waiting for. Maybe this was the ocean’s way of giving back to him, of making up for all the wrong in the world. 

 

-

 

That night, as Hyungseob drops the lighted splint on the doorstep of the bar, somewhere in the back of his mind, he thinks about Daehwi and all his friends he left behind at the bar. There’s a sinking feeling in his stomach, but he pushes it away.

 

He and Woojin run far, far away as the bar explodes in a burst of white light behind them.

 

After a while, they stop, panting with exhilaration. They had made it. They were free. Hyungseob grins and opens his mouth when he hears footsteps approaching, quick and loud. He grabs Woojin’s hand and they begin to run, _again_.

 

It happens again and again, and sometimes he thinks that running away hadn’t been worth it.

 

But as he looks at the boy next to him, the stars in the night sky above them twinkle merrily and reflect in Woojin’s eyes, it occurs to him that his wish on a shooting star has been granted.

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> fun facts:
> 
> The young boy in the brothel is Lee Woojin  
> The song about separation Hyungseob was singing is Always (produce 101 version)  
> The bird that died in the bar is a pigeon  
> The wrestler was Daniel  
> Woojin cried with his left eye because his right got shingles  
> Hyungseob is a siren, Euiwoong is an elf, Justin is a witch, Daniel is a werewolf
> 
>  
> 
> thank u to my Dearest™ Friend for helping so much to edit this. kanemochi ok


End file.
